


The Real Punchline

by markesa



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkham Asylum, Dark, Deception, Depressing, Electroconvulsive Therapy, Haly's Circus, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kinda disturbing, Sad Ending, sorry folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24083914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markesa/pseuds/markesa
Summary: It was raining the day the day Jeremiah was supposed to meet Jerome. A cold, biting rain that, coupled with a harsh wind, was sure to make even adventurous people stay indoors. The perfect setting for a clandestine meeting.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska & Jerome Valeska
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	The Real Punchline

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, honestly, I have not a single clue what I was thinking. I guess I just wanted a sad story? Anyways, this is my first Gotham fic (I recently got hooked on the show), so I reimagined a bit of it...okay a lot of it. The Valeska twins definitely were some of the best characters. 
> 
> As always, feedback, kudos, anything is much appreciated!

It was raining the day the day Jeremiah was supposed to meet Jerome. A cold, biting rain that, coupled with a harsh wind, was sure to make even adventurous people stay indoors. The perfect setting for a clandestine meeting.

Jeremiah wrapped his trench coat around himself tighter as he waited for his twin brother. These meetings took place every few months on a day with terrible weather. It was purposely set up that way. Nobody could know that the two Valeska twins still communicated.

Especially since they were supposed to have last seen each other almost a decade ago. Ask anyone at the circus what happened, and they would say that Jeremiah was taken away from his twin, Jerome, for his own protection. That’s what the story was. Or at least what Lila, their mother, told everyone. So that’s what everyone that knew them thought: Jerome was an unhinged maniac, and Jeremiah was an unfortunate victim. 

All lies. Lila broke them apart because she knew they would one day gain up against her. Better douse the fire before it spread. The joke was on her. She just hadn’t discovered the punchline yet. 

A huddled figure slowly limped up the hill, catching Jeremiah’s attention. 

“Jay?” Jeremiah called out, squinting through the pouring rain. The tree he stood under offered little protection from the rain, a fair punishment for forgetting an umbrella. 

“Yeah,” the figure called back, waving a hand. Jeremiah grinned and walked towards his brother, mindful of the slippery grass. He remembered the last meeting when he had run on the wet grass and ended up falling and sliding right into Jerome; definitely not an event he wanted to replicate. 

Once he reached Jerome, he wrapped his twin in a tight hug. “It’s been 97 days since we’ve seen each other,” he says, leading Jerome back to the tree.

“Of course you would know the exact number of days,” Jerome rolled his eyes, patting his brother’s arm affectionately as he leaned against the tree. 

Jeremiah peered at his brother, noticing that he sounded a lot more downbeat than usual. His brother also seemed more pale with dark, almost purple circles under his eyes. And then there was the new limp. 

“What did she do to you?” Jeremiah narrowed his eyes, memories of their alcoholic and abusive mother beating Jerome swirling in his head. Jerome had always been her target. Always the source of the problem, according to her.

“Nothing she hasn’t done before,” Jerome scoffed, rubbing his left temple tiredly. “The special Lila Valeska tonic: three slaps to the face, two bottles to the head, one hitting of a leg with a baseball bat, and the special ingredient of a drunk boyfriend kicking some ribs.”

“Damn her,” Jeremiah spat, fury bubbling up inside him. “We’re ending her. This week, Jerome. I swear that’s it. I’m getting you out of there.”

Jerome sighed heavily. “And exactly how are we going to do that? She’s almost never alone, and it’s not like we can just kill her.” 

Silence greeted his words and Jerome blinked slowly as he took in his brother’s contemplative gaze. “Wait, that’s your plan? To kill her?” 

“I mean, why not?” Jeremiah shrugged his shoulders. “She’s done us enough harm, and we can’t trust her to not come after you after you leave.” 

Jerome shook his head and laughed gleefully, quickly shedding his somber mood. 

“Broski, I thought you’d never ask! Damn, only you would embrace your dark side at some rich prep school.” 

Jerome grabbed Jeremiah’s shoulders, suddenly serious. “Honestly though, how’s this gonna work? I meant what I said about her being almost never alone. It would have to be at like 3 a.m. or some shit.”

“Which is exactly what it will be. This is necessary, Jerome. You’ve suffered enough,” Jeremiah clenched his jaw at the thought of Lila continuing to hurt his twin. “Thursday will be the day we strike.”

Jerome nodded and took a deep breath. “Thursday it is. I’ve got that hatchet that I use to help build sets. We can use that, unless you’ve got a better idea.”

“No, a hatchet will be fine. Quick and easy. Now,” Jeremiah leaned close to Jerome, dropping his voice to a whisper. “This is exactly what’s going to happen…”

* * *

It had all gone perfectly. Perfectly. Nothing could have been more freeing than getting rid of the bitch who had tortured him all this time. 

Jerome sat in the interrogation room at the GCPD, waiting for the detective, Jim Gordon, to come back in. He reflected on the events of that fateful night which was not even two days old. Jeremiah had met him at 3 a.m. on Thursday morning as he had promised. He had held Lila down while Jerome had given her a dose of her own medicine with the hatchet. When it was all done, they had dragged Lila to a wagon and thrown the hatchet in the woods. Nobody would ever know it had been them.

Jeremiah had expected the GCPD to come on the scene, so, as far as Jerome was concerned, this was all according to plan. Answering all the questions with a shaky voice and a few tears had worked out quite well for Jerome so far. Hell, he was considering becoming an actor after this since the GCPD was buying his act so damn easily. And with Lila having so many lovers, who would ever think that her dear old son would off her? 

The door suddenly swung open again, and a stern-faced Jim Gordon briskly walked into the room. Jerome raised his watery eyes to the detective, making sure to look distressed.

“Jerome, we found someone who gave us some important information about your mother’s murder,” the detective sighed, suddenly looking wary of Jerome. “Do you have anything you want to tell me before I bring this person in? Specifically of what you were doing the night your mother died?”

Jerome clasped his hands together and did his best to look innocent. “I told you detective, I was sleeping, and I didn’t hear anything.” 

Jim narrowed his eyes at him and sighed again. “Are you sticking with that story?” Jim asked, looking unconvinced. 

Unease settled into Jerome’s stomach, and his hands suddenly felt clammy. Damn him and his overconfidence. Besides, who the hell could know anything about Lila’s death besides him and Jeremiah? Unless this mystery person _was_ Jeremiah, which was impossible because he was supposed to have not seen Jerome in years according to the story Lila sold everyone. 

“Jerome?” Jim prompted, his eyes searching Jerome’s, almost as if he could find answers there. “Are you sure? If you’re holding back something and tell me now, this could help you later on.”

Jerome shook his head, his heart beating too fast, his throat too tight, and he felt like he did when he was lying to Lila and she wasn’t buying it. What did the detective mean “later on?” What the hell could this person have said that now Jim was practically pressing him to confess?

Jim sighed and waved his hand to someone behind Jerome, and another police officer walked in with none other than Jeremiah Valeska. 

Jerome tried to steady his breathing, not needing to fake his shock. Jeremiah’s eyes were filled with sadness, but he stayed silent as he sat down next to Jerome.

“Is Jeremiah your twin brother, Jerome?” Jim asked, leaning forward as the other police officer left, closing the door. 

Jerome glanced at Jeremiah, who remained silent. “Y-yeah.” he stuttered, confused. It was pretty obvious that they were twins, hell, they were _identical_ twins.

“And you haven’t seen him in almost a decade? Since your mother sent Jeremiah to live with another family?”

Jerome nodded, unsure where the detective was heading. 

“People who knew both of you at the circus said that your mother sent Jeremiah away for his own protection, right?”

Jerome nodded again.

“Then, Jerome, could you tell me why you killed your mother?” Jim leaned back, folding his arms as he looked at Jerome.

Jerome stiffened, his heart thudding in his chest. He looked at Jeremiah again, but Jeremiah turned away from him, hunching his shoulders.

“Me?” Jerome widened his eyes, panic settling into his bones. How could the detective possibly know? What did Jeremiah have to do with this? What was happening?

“You killed her up on that hill, and forced Jeremiah to help you.” Jim leaned forward again, and Jerome felt his heart sink. Jeremiah had lied, sold him out, and tricked him.

He tried once more to save himself, to convince Jim that this was not true. “Sir, that's...absurd and...and offensive,” Jerome replied, but he could see that Jim was not buying his words. It was too late. And things had been going so well. 

“But it’s the truth. Jeremiah told us how you two meet every few months. How you threaten to find and kill him unless he meets you to give you money and clothes. How you forced him to be a part of your mother’s murder. How you threatened to harm him and his adoptive family unless he complied.”

Betrayal. His brother had betrayed him. Jerome loved jokes as much as anyone, but this, this was the sickest one he had ever heard. His own brother turning against him when this had been his idea in the first place. Fury seeped into his bones and before he could even process what he was doing, he had knocked Jeremiah to the floor and had his hands locked around his twin’s throat.

“You betrayed me, you sick bastard! I’m going to kill you! I swear to God, I will rip your intestines out and I’ll make you pay,” Jerome roared, tightening his grip on his brother’s neck.

Jeremiah scrabbled at his hands, desperately trying to fight him off. “Stop, please! You don’t—”

Jerome felt himself being tugged off of Jeremiah, and he lashed out, his fist connecting with someone’s nose. The room had suddenly become filled with cops trying to restrain him.

Jerome rushed back at his brother, spitting at him as he felt handcuffs click around his wrists.

“I’ll explain, I swear,” Jeremiah whispered before Jerome was forced to the floor and Jim began reading him his rights.

This was truly a sick joke. But maybe it was also the funniest one Jerome had ever heard. Because his life was cursed. And this was just the type of shit that life loved to throw at him. Jerome began laughing, his sharp laughter bouncing off the walls of the interrogation room. Of course it would be him to be caught and set up. Of course. The other police officers pulled him to his feet and dragged him out of the room as he hysterically continued to laugh. He didn’t see the needle before it was too late. He felt the sharp prick in his arm and realized they were sedating him. 

“Didn’t know it was protocol sedate a person for laughing, Jimmy,” Jerome growled, squinting at the detective, his vision already becoming blurry.

“It’s protocol when the person is being sent to Arkham,” Jim Gordon responded, his gaze almost one of pity as Jerome slumped down in the arms of the officers who held him.

“Arkham?” asked a timid voice from behind Jim. He turned to see Jeremiah Valeska looking sadly at the unconscious figure of his brother.

“From what you and others have told us, Jerome seems to be mentally unstable. I think some time in Arkham will be best for him,” Jim sighed deeply, putting a reassuring hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for what you went through, but it’s over. You’re safe.”

Jeremiah blinked, nodding at the detective’s words, but guilt wrapped itself tightly around him. This hadn’t been part of the plan.

* * *

“Valeska? You got a visitor,” a gruff voice called out into the recreation room, and Jerome turned his head towards the door where a guard stood with a clipboard.

Jerome stretched his arms above his head as he leaned back further in the chair he was lounging in. A few inmates sat around him, looking suspiciously at the guard. “I’m good here, Billy-o, tell ‘em Valeska visiting hours aren’t until the twelfth of never, yeah?” Jerome cackled as he tried to remember what he had been saying to his group prior to the interruption.

Of course the visitor was Jeremiah. Jeremiah had come almost every day for nearly two weeks now, ever since Jerome first got in here. Naturally, Jerome had rejected all his visitations, opting to get himself acquainted with the other inmates since he certainly couldn’t break out of this place alone. 

“He says he ain’t gonna leave until you see him,” Billy called back, and Jerome rolled his eyes.

“Well then let him rot there. I certainly don’t give a damn!” 

“No can do, the warden insists you see him.”

Jerome growled, swinging his legs down from the table they had been on. “What part of ‘I don’t care’ don’t you understand?” he snarled, slamming his hand on the table.

“Warden says that unless you want an electroshock session, you gotta see him,” the guard, Billy, responded, unfrazzled.

That caught Jerome’s attention. Electroshock sessions were infamous in the asylum as sessions were rare. Which made sense since no patient made it out without a fried brain. “Fine, fine, lead the way,” Jerome grumbled, walking over to where Billy stood. 

Two minutes later, he found himself being escorted into a little room where a line of seats and tiny cubicles were. Glass windows separated visitors from the inmates and plastic phones were hooked on each cubicle’s wall. Just like a prison. 

Jerome was led to the last cubicle, and he sat down, glaring at the perfectly dressed figure of his brother. He was wearing a burnt orange suit, had his hair combed nicely, and his signature glasses were perched on his nose. Jeremiah picked up the phone and looked at him expectantly. Jerome continued to scowl, reveling in his brother’s visible frustration as he tapped on the glass trying to get Jerome to pick up the phone on his end. Jeremiah began to tap his phone on the glass, exasperation clear in his face. Eh, this wasn’t so fun anymore. Jerome picked up the phone and swung his legs up on the little table so that the soles of his boots touched the glass dividing them.

“Brother, so nice of your backstabbing ass to come and see me” Jerome rasped, tilting his head back to examine the ceiling tiles.

“Jerome, please, I know you might see me as that, but I swear, I didn’t know this was how it would turn out,” Jeremiah’s pleading voice reignited Jerome’s anger. 

“No! This is where you shut the hell up, and I do the talking!” Jerome growled, slamming his feet down and glaring at his twin.

“I trusted you. I thought we were in this together. All those years seeing me, and for what, to just toss me in here? What the hell is in it for you? Oh wait, you’re free to be seen as the victim once again. I forgot, that’s your kink,” Jerome sneered.

Jeremiah hung his head, looking defeated. “Jerome, I meant for us to get away with it, but when they came to the door...you know I’m terrible at lying. They saw through it, and I told them what happen—”

“Wrong. You. Lied. About. Everything,” Jerome jabbed his finger into the glass with each word. “You’re a traitor. A sick person. Someone I wish would just _die_.”

“I’m sorry! I really am!” Jeremiah said, tears filling up in his eyes, yet Jerome didn’t feel a single urge to comfort his twin. Forgiveness was far from attainable.

“That’s what mother-dear said too. Right after slamming my head into the table or something. Exactly that. And look what happened to her,” Jerome leaned forward, meeting his brother’s eyes. “I’m getting out of here, and when I do, I’m going to make you wish you were never born. I’m going to ruin you. Slowly. Painfully. Beautifully.” Jerome leaned back, and hung the phone back on the wall, watching Jeremiah stare back at him in fear. Jerome signaled the guard to come and get him, satisfaction enveloping him as Jeremiah continued to look visibly shaken. 

He left the visitor room without looking back at Jeremiah. The bastard would get what he had coming, and Jerome could barely wait to get his hands on the little snitch. How he had ever trusted him, he would never know. But that just taught him—never trust anyone.

Jeremiah felt his heart in his throat. This was certainly not how he thought this conversation would go. He had hoped that Jerome would want to see him so that Jeremiah could reveal his plan of helping him escape. But Jerome hadn’t even let him speak. Jerome had threatened him, and for the first time, Jeremiah felt genuine fear at his brother’s words. Two weeks in the asylum had changed him, but it was going to be okay. Jeremiah could get his brother back. Things could go back to normal.

He could still break Jerome out of here, and they could move to another city, change their looks, go undercover. It would be okay. Jerome would forgive him...because he wouldn’t remember Jeremiah’s betrayal. Jeremiah had come up with a back-up plan just in case Jerome didn’t want to forgive him. He had read about the effects of electroshock therapy, and memory loss was one of them. It was a gamble, but it was worth it. If Jerome’s memories of the murder and everything afterwards were erased, then they could continue as if nothing happened. 

Jeremiah would still be able to break Jerome out, just Jerome would never remember what actually transpired to get him into Arkham. They would be brothers again. A potentially flawed plan, but Jeremiah had hope. And if Jerome lost all his memories, well, they could start over. Become close again. Things would be fine. They had to be.

Jeremiah approached one of the guards in the visitation room. “Excuse me, I was wondering if I could speak to the warden about my brother’s treatment?” 

The guard nodded, and gestured for Jeremiah to follow him. “Of course, follow me, please.”

* * *

“Valeska, you’re up for some therapy today,” Jerome raised his head as Billy, one of the guards he often saw around, approached him with some handcuffs. 

Jerome cocked his head as he looked at the handcuffs. “Getting kinky, are we? What kinda therapy? You know I don’t go to those, Billy-o,” Jerome swatted the handcuffs away from him, laughing.

Billy sighed and quickly clicked on one of the cuffs on Jerome’s wrist before he could notice. “It’s mandatory.”

Jerome shot out of his chair, trying to avoid getting the other cuff on, but two other guards ran in to push Jerome to the ground. 

“Hey! What’s the big idea?” Jerome snarled, attempting to shake off the guards holding him down.

“Like I said, mandatory,” Billy answered and hauled Jerome up once the handcuffs were secure. 

What kind of mandatory therapy could they possibly need him to do? Jerome couldn’t figure out why they would start now, three weeks into his sentence here...unless....no. No. No. No. He _didn’t_. 

“Broski did this, didn’t he?” Jerome glared at Billy as he was shoved out of the recreation room and down the hallway. “He wants to fry my brains, that little shit. Well, he can’t. He can’t!” Jerome wriggled, slamming his head backwards into Billy’s nose and stomping on the foot of the other guard that held him.

Panic flooded Jerome’s mind, and he felt all too much like a sheep being led to slaughter. “Let me go!” he screeched, twisting violently to no avail. “You can’t do this! I didn’t do anything! He’s more sick than me!” Jerome yelled, fear taking over him. 

He was not the type to beg for his life, but he wasn’t done living yet. He hadn’t even done anything remarkable yet, hadn’t made a name for himself, nothing! His brother held all the strings, and Jerome was the puppet. The puppet who was going to be a vegetable in less than twenty minutes. Time seemed to blur as he was forced into the electroshock seat and was held down once more as the handcuffs were taken off and leather restraints were clamped down on his limbs. 

He struggled violently, but the restraints limited his movement and despair took over his panic. This was it. He was going to be turned into a mindless zombie before he could even show Gotham just how chaotic he could be. His brother had destroyed him. 

The doctor spoke to one of the guards, checking his clipboard, but Jerome couldn’t hear anything. There was just the deafening roar of blood in his ears as his heart pounded. He might be a little off his rocker, but this, this was a new level of evil. His brother’s dark side had really appeared. And he had thought that they could reign in chaos together. Just how wrong he’d been. It felt like he had passed through fifty emotional states since getting in this room. And this last one, acceptance, was the last emotion he may ever feel. 

Acceptance at his utter failure. His brother was crazier than him. And wasn’t that just the joke? Because all of life was a joke. Sometimes it just took some time to discover the real punchline. As the first burst of electricity hit his brain, he began laughing. 

Sharp screams of laughter. Over and over. Louder and louder. Because if he was going to go out, he wanted to go out laughing. 

The laughter continued until it cut off abruptly several minutes later. And silence ruled the halls of the asylum once more. 

* * *

The next day, Jerome Valeska had a visitor. Jeremiah Valeska waited in the same visitor’s chair as last time, his foot tapping impatiently on the floor. He needed to see his brother, see what he remembered, see if they could go back to being how they used to be. It had to work. It just had to.

Two guards appeared, holding Jerome between them. Jerome’s head was drooping, and he was hunched over, much like he used to be when Jeremiah visited him at the circus. 

The guards sat Jerome down in the chair, and Jerome didn’t raise his head. One of the guards picked up the phone and motioned for Jeremiah to listen on his end. “He might not be in the talkative mood, if you get what I mean,” the guard glanced over at Jerome and nodded at Jeremiah before placing the phone in front of the still motionless Jerome.

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes at the guard and waited until both the guards left before tapping on the glass. Maybe his brother would talk to him now that those pesky guards were gone. Jeremiah continued to tap on the glass. What was this? The silent treatment? Maybe he hadn’t forgotten what Jeremiah did to him after all. 

But still, wouldn’t Jerome gloat about hating him or something? Jeremiah knocked against the glass loudly, and Jerome’s head slowly lifted. Jeremiah leaned forward, hoping to finally talk to Jerome. But when Jerome’s eyes met his, it was like getting a bucket of ice water poured on him. 

Jerome’s eyes were, if even possible, completely _empty._ There was no anger, no happiness, no emotion, and worst of all, no recognition whatsoever. Jerome’s mouth sagged slightly open as he blankly stared at him, and Jeremiah felt dread encompass him.

Surely he was just drugged, right? That had to be it. Because, there was no way...no, he wouldn’t even dare consider it. Jeremiah jumped to his feet, hurrying to the guard. “Sir? I have a question about the patient there, Jerome Valeska?” Jeremiah asked the disinterested guard. 

The guard swung his head to look at Jerome back at the cubicle. “Huh? Him? What’d you wanna know?”

Jeremiah rubbed his hands together nervously, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. “W-what, uh, happened to him? He’s barely responsive, and he was fine just the other day, and—”

“Yeah, he got juiced. Y’know? Electroshock therapy? Anyone who goes in there gets their brains completely fried,” the guard sucked his teeth, his eyes darting to look at Jerome once more before leaning towards Jeremiah. “Hate to break it to ya, but he ain’t gonna ever be anything again.”

Jeremiah stared at the guard in horror, the realization slowly and painfully sinking in. He had done this to Jerome. He had completely fried Jerome’s brain. Jerome was gone...because of him.

“N-no,” Jeremiah stammered, shaking his head in denial, his knees feeling weaker and weaker. The guard caught him before he collapsed to the floor. 

“Hey, kid, I know it’s tough, but at least he ain’t dead, eh?” the guard tried to talk to Jeremiah, but Jeremiah could only hear his own voice screaming “guilty” over and over.

The guard slowly led Jeremiah back to the visitor’s chair, and Jeremiah raised his head to look at his brother. Jerome still sat in the chair, the phone untouched. He hadn’t budged a single inch. And the worst part of it all was that he still had that glassy stare. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry,” Jeremiah repeated over and over, not bothering to pick up the phone. He had ruined his brother. Absolutely destroyed him. He couldn’t stand the sight of what he had done to Jerome. He was the monster, not Jerome. What had he done?

A woman bustled into the visiting room suddenly, clutching a soaking wet umbrella. She glanced around the room and shook her umbrella, the drops flying everywhere. “Just started raining out there! Glad I had an umbrella,” she loudly exclaimed to the guard as she signed in. 

Jeremiah stared at her, his heart breaking. It had always been raining when he had met Jerome at the circus. And he used to always share his umbrella with Jerome when he remembered to bring his. Jerome didn’t need an umbrella now. He never would. Because he would be here forever. 

“You done visiting?” the guard approached Jeremiah after a few minutes, noticing his silence. 

Jeremiah looked away from his brother and nodded. “Yeah, I’m done,” he said and he left the visiting room without looking back at his brother. 

He didn’t need to see Jerome again to know that his blank stare would haunt him forever. An eye for an eye. A forever for a forever. 


End file.
